


Curiosity

by ivarara



Series: doomvega stuffs [9]
Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, this is set right as the marauder starts chillin with em
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26720053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivarara/pseuds/ivarara
Summary: The creature is perturbing. Perplexing. Perhaps even cute.
Relationships: Doom Slayer | Doomguy/Marauder(s)/VEGA
Series: doomvega stuffs [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712590
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> this was so fun to write,,, i love writin big scary tough dudes falling for lil critters. it's my power.
> 
> follow me on tumblr! @inkydoomcat

The creature is, in his opinion, very...perturbing.

He is accustomed to creatures of similar size. Even his loyal wolf is to scale with him. The demons he has confronted and has since abandoned were sizable. Even the Slayer himself was proportionate to him--albeit, shorter. The mech, Vega, is taller than the Slayer, but still barely reaches the Marauder’s shoulder height.

The pet is only approximately the size of his head, he estimates. Something so small and fragile should not exist in such a hostile environment. Though, he supposes, the haven of the Fortress provides the needed safety for the fragile thing. 

The first time he follows the Slayer back to the Fortress, the jet-black, furry thing runs up to the man and practically wrapps itself around his legs. A long tail, curled at the tip, slides around his leg as the little thing weaves between the marine’s legs. 

He physically wrinkles his lip at it, glaring at it intensely. “What the hell is that?”

Vega hums, amused, as the Slayer stoops over to pick up the creature. “That,” his warm voice informs the Marauder, “is our loyal feline. Inky.”

His eyes squint at the wriggling black mass in the Slayer’s arms. The man seems oblivious to the warrior’s scrutiny, instead focusing on rubbing the cat’s face with bulky, gauntlet-covered fingers. The cat--he _refuses_ to give that thing a name--wiggles happily, batting at the fingers and rubbing its face against them.

“She has residency seniority over you,” Vega teases. “She has the right-of-way.”

“She will have no issues with me, should she leave me be,” he grunts out, looking pointedly away. 

“I cannot guarantee that,” Vega warns. 

The Marauder glares at the mech. “I cannot guarantee that thing’s safety, if it comes near.”

Immediately, the Slayer tenses. His head whips around to lock onto the Marauder’s form, eyes damn near glowing with restrained anger. His body tenses, Inky sensing the change in his disposition as well and wriggling out of his suddenly-tight grip. 

He curls his lip. “Does she really mean that much to you two? A measly animal?”

“Well,” Vega tries to reason, purposefully placing himself between the two warriors, “Inky is very good at easing the Slayer’s thoughts when they delve into uncanny valleys,” he proposes. “She is a good distraction and source of comfort for both him and myself, truth be told.”

Something reluctantly clicks in his mind: if he wishes to stay with them, it is positively necessary that he grows used to her. 

“Fine,” he snarls. “Do not expect an overwhelming welcome to her,” he adds. “I’ve no time for such a feeble, fragile thing.”

Vega chuckles affably. “With your bristly exterior, I doubt she will even want to bother you,” he offers. “Perhaps that is a good thing?”

The Marauder huffs petulantly. 

⁂ 

He grows accustomed to seeing the cat wandering the Fortress. While her coloring oftentimes leaves him squinting into the shadows to see if she’s truly there, he does notice her. He notices that she slinks around after the Slayer when he is present, then waits patiently with Vega in the main room until he returns from a mission. She spares him no attention, at first--just how he likes it. 

The cat’s behavior is both predictable and erratic. He knows what times she will start to fuss as she waits to be fed. He knows what places she likes to curl up and sleep in. He knows what toys she prefers to carry around and play with, by now. 

He also knows that she is growing interested in him. 

At first, she would skitter away from him, were he to approach. None of the times were him necessarily approaching her; rather, something different that she was between. Claws would scrabble on the hard floor as she struggled to get traction enough to tear away, her feet making soft thumps as she ran. 

Now, however, she grows braver. He catches her intently watching him as he makes his way around the Fortress. He notices that she only scoots to the side enough to let him by as he walks. 

Against even his iron-will, he feels some part of him soften to her advances. Acknowledging her questioning sounds, idly flicking a toy for her to chase when it stops near him--little things that he desperately hopes go unnoticed.

He is cleaning his armor one day when he first feels it. Something...ticklish, brushing against his exposed arm. Reflexively, he goes to swat away whatever it is, but pauses when the thing lets out a familiar _mrrp!_

Ah. She’s finally gotten brave enough.

When he looks over, her eyes meet his. Piercing green, even in the dim light of the armory. She lets out another questioning sound as they lock gazes, rubbing her head more firmly against his arm. 

He looks to his hands. Blood-stained, battle-worn-- tools of death. How many lives has he claimed with them? He frowns at the ragged claws at the tips. Does he have the delicacy to respect her, with a body meant for destruction?

Of course he does, he decides. The Slayer is a bloodthirsty killer as well, and he manages to be gentle enough on her. Hands that quite literally ripped demons in halves could still be controlled enough to allow gentle caresses.

One clawed hand extends to her. Her ears perk up at the gesture, her neck stretching as she leans forward to sniff. He barely feels her whiskers tickling his fingertips before he’s baffled.

The cat leans fully into his hand, preening and standing on her tip-toes, eyes slitting closed happily. 

He is taken aback, at first. How long has it been since he was gentle with something, apart from his wolf? He supposes there have been a lot of changes lately, and this is no different. Gently, he drags his nails down her spine, feeling the thick, black fur ruffle underneath. 

Suddenly, a rumble starts up from within her. A growl? A snarl? Regardless, he snatches his hand away immediately. She looks to him, confused, head slightly tilted to the side.

Scowling at her, he puts his armor aside and goes to find someone.

***

“Your...feline,” he starts. “Is she normally so aggressive?”

Vega and the Slayer look at him curiously. The Slayer’s brows knit together as he listens to him continue.

“I attempted to ‘soothe’ her, earlier,” he explains, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “And she immediately started growling. Does she do this to you?”

“‘Growling’?” Vega queries. “She is not known to be like that. Did you upset her somehow?”

“Of course not!” the Marauder snarls petulantly. 

‘What were you doing?’ 

“Simply touching her,” he grumbles. “She came up seeking attention. I gave it to her.”

Vega’s face positively lights up when he finishes. “Oh! Marauder, she was not being hostile towards you,” his voice is bright and excited. “That’s her way of expressing happiness and pleasure--she purrs!”

He knows what purring is. Hell, he’s been accused of purring when content. He ponders it for a moment while Vega continues.

“Purring means she feels safe and happy,” he chortles. “She was not growling--she was pleased!”

As if on cue, Inky trots into the room, tail high and curled at the tip. When she sees the three of them, her ears straighten, and she starts to chitter excitedly.

‘Watch this,’ the Slayer beckons. He leans over, wiggling his fingers to her, drawing her over quickly. When in range, he picks her up, cradling her against his chest, scratching her chin. She does the same thing she had done with the Marauder just before: her eyes slit closed, she wriggles into the touch, and the low rumble starts up once more.

“You’re telling me,” he blurts, “that she ‘growls’ when happy?”

“To put it simply, yes.”

He steps over to the Slayer, gently laying a hand on Inky’s back to feel the rumble for himself. Her entire body seems to vibrate with the ferocious purring.

“How backwards,” he grunts, taking his hand back. 

“Different creatures have different ways of expressing happiness,” Vega offers. “Your wolf wags its tail when happy. The Slayer smiles. Inky purrs.”

A quick glance proves that yes, the Slayer is smiling smugly at him.

With a final flustered huff, he bids goodbye and goes to the main control room. Gazing out the bay windows, he considers what had happened. So, she was not being irritable...which meant he was doing something right.

⁂ 

The next time she appears to him, he’s prepared. 

This time, he is just returning from a much-needed outing. The Slayer and Vega had stayed at the base, leaving him to his own doings. 

As he enters the portal back to the Fortress, he immediately spots Inky. She is sitting on the console, tail curled neatly around her paws as she watches. As soon as she spots him, she lets out a chortle, tail straightening up as she stands. At first, he walks by her. She voices her displeasure with a pitiful whine, following after him.

He lets out a grunt, waving a hand at her. “Let me clean off first.”

She persists, following him to the armory once more as he puts his axe aside. A quick scrubdown removes any gore and viscera from his armor and body, leaving him suitable, at least to his standards.

In the doorway, she waits patiently. When he approaches, she stands, arching her back excitedly. Almost automatically, he stoops over and gently scoops her up off the floor, cradling her in the crook of one bulky arm. His free hand moves to ruffle her fur, which she leans into wholly.

He carries her out, intending to sit down in one of the chairs circling the data consoles as he mulls over his day. She does not fight his grip, going slack like putty. He settles down, now placing her in his lap. Instantly, she curls up into a ball, once again rumbling-- _purring_ \--happily. His claws run through her fur smoothly, relishing in the way she squirms contentedly against the touches. 

He supposes he could get use to this.


End file.
